Is This It?
by Dustmites
Summary: Set post-war. Draco and Hermione meet in a dingy bar in Knockturn Alley. Both have problems and both need someone they can lean on. Dark one-shot, rated for a lemon, language, and abuse.


**Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, just my little story.**

**A/N: Hi, everyone. I haven't written a while, I know. I've been working on this story for a long time though, and I hope you like it, I really do. This is going to remain as a one-shot though, so please don't ask me to extend it. I do have a request of all my readers. Or two. **

**1) Please review! I love reviews more than anything.**

**2) If you have/know of a challenge I should participate in, please let me know. I'm not always up to date on the world of Dramione fan fiction, but I would love to become more well known. Of course, if you just want to set me a challenge yourself, that's brilliant. **

**So, without further ado, here we go!**

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The air was heavy, stinking of sweat, alcohol and sorrow. This wasn't the bar you went to for a friendly pint, nor the bar you visited in search of a lover. This was the bar where you went to drown yourself in cheap alcohol until you passed out in your barstool, only to be lugged out onto the damp curb of Knockturn Alley for the rats to use as a pisspot. This was the bar you visited when you were on the brink of suicide, hoping that one last drink would give you the liquid courage you needed to mutter your last spell as you stood in your dingy room above The Leaky Cauldron. This was the bar frequented by former Death Eaters, too ashamed to show their face in the day, seeking refuge in the musty bar by night.

This was the bar frequented by Draco Malfoy, so it was no surprise that he sat in his worn seat at the counter, hand wrapped possessively around the grimy glass that contained a vile brown liquid on this particular Tuesday night. Every now and then he would take a sip, wincing at the burn the drink left down the back of his throat. The rest of the bar was empty, as was usual for the middle of the week, most waiting until Friday night to drown their sorrows. Draco never missed a night, though. He would travel to Knockturn Alley every evening, remove his cloak and sit in the same stool, ordering the same drink and staring at the same spot with his hollowed eyes. Once his glass was empty the bartender, an old and balding man who made a living off drunkards, would refill it with his poison of choice. This would continue until midnight, when Draco would slam his fist against the counter, push the empty glass away and dump some money in the open hand of the bartender before slinging his cloak on and stumbling into the night. He would kick past the unconscious wizards who dozed on the street and, with minor difficulty, apparate to his home in the poorer part of London where he would fumble with the key, kick of his shoes and collapse on his bed otherwise fully clothed. In the mornings he would stir, massaging his temples as his head pounded. He would retch into the Porcelain God, emptying his stomach of all its contents before downing a hangover cure, having a shower, and going to work. It was the same routine, day in, day out. He never expected anything different.

He heard the familiar creak of the bar door open, followed by the unfamiliar clicking of high heels against the cracked tiled flooring. He quirked a brow but didn't look up from his drink, only marginally interested by presence of a female in the predominantly male bar. Draco frowned as the woman sat in the stool just two away from his. The entire bar was empty, so why would she choose to sit near him? He hoped to Salazar that she wasn't one of those irritating bar-goers who insisted on making awkward conversation that would end in awkward sex. That was one of the reasons he favoured this bar – less females meant less conversations. With a hidden smile he heard her ask for the strongest drink. She just wanted to get drunk, and fast, meaning it was unlikely she would speak.

Draco glanced up towards the bartender, avoiding looking at the woman for fear of recognition. The old man placed a tall glass of murky liquid in front of the newcomer who thanked him and gulped deeply. Draco's eyes widened slightly. That shit was strong. This woman could hold her liquor. The bartender also seemed impressed, leering at the woman as she called for another drink. Draco's eyes flickered to the clock that hung on the wall. His vision was slightly blurred, but he could tell it was almost midnight. Downing the rest of the vile liquid he pushed twelve sickles towards the bartender and hopped from his stool, feet leading him sideways into the counter. He cursed loudly as the old man chuckled.

"Malfoy?" the woman slurred, looking up at him with red eyes.

"Granger," he scowled in response, tripping over his feet and attempting to right himself before embarrassing himself further.

"I'll buy you a drink," the bushy haired Gryffindor offered, but he shook his head.

"I'm leaving," he muttered, pushing past her and into the November night air. He shuddered as the wintery breeze enveloped him, fumbling around until he pulled out his wand. With a little difficulty he felt himself be squeezed into the tube of apparition, thankfully in one piece. He gulped down the stale air of his apartment building when he arrived, leaning against the front door for support. His knees threatened to cave beneath his drunken weight. With a hiccough he found his key, jamming it into the lock and falling through the front door, wrenching the key out and letting it slam behind him. His mouth tasted like mud, as was the usual. With a little stumbling he kicked his feet out of his shoes and moved towards his bedroom, hand pressed against the grimy blue walls for support until he reached his mattress. Tugging the clasp of his cloak until it came undone, falling in a pool of fabric at his bare feet, he collapsed onto the bed, his loud snores filling the room before his head had hit the pillow.

* * *

Someone was ramming their fist over and over again into his skull. If not that, then they were hitting him over the head with a shovel, intent on causing as much pain as possible. Someone had figured out a way to isolate the Cruciatus curse to a single part of his body, and was now inflicting agony on his brain. He groaned, the sound making his head pound even further. Fuck. Opening his eyes to the thankfully dark room, he felt bile begin to burn its way up his throat. Moving quickly and feeling as though his brain was being lobbed against a brick wall, he threw himself into the bathroom, hunching over his scummy toilet as he heaved his stomach contents into the bowl. The alcohol burnt worse on the way back up, and he made the same vow he made every morning – he would never drink again. Reaching blindly for the collection of vials that sat on the countertop of the dingy bathroom, he pulled one out, leaning against the wall as he fumbled with the stopper. Once it had been removed with a satisfying pop he brought it to his lips and swallowed. It was just a sweet blue liquid, a little creation of his own that mixed a Pepper-Up potion with the standard Hangover cure, with sugar added to stop the recipient from vomiting the concoction back up.

With the barest hint of a smile on his face he pushed himself up and off the floor and stripped off his clothing which, despite the frozen temperature of his flat, stuck to his body with sweat. Unconsciously, his fingers traced over the intricate dragon tattoo on his right forearm, opposite in positioning to where the faint outline of the Dark Mark remained on his left arm. The dragon tattoo was one of five tattoos on his body. It had seemed like the thing to do after his release from Azkaban and he didn't regret it. The ink was usually covered up with clothing, but the cheap whores he managed to pick up where generally awestruck by the detailing on the dragon, not to mention the snake that curled its way up his back.

Stepping into the tiny shower, he blasted the cold water, brushing his long blonde hair from his eyes as he washed the sweat off his body. His mind flickered back to the snippits of the evening before that he could manage to recall. There was a new face at the bar, a familiar one. A woman. His mind remembered a sexy, slender body. High heels. Nice breasts. Black hair? No, that wasn't right. She had brown hair. Tight brown curls that made her seem so…wild. He groaned, glad that he had chosen a cold shower this morning. He knew her, but couldn't see her face. They had exchanged words. In his hazed memory her voice was slow, sensual.

"Fuck!" he bellowed, smacking the wall with the palm of his hand. He shut the water off and stepped out of the shower, wrapping a green towel around his waist and returning to his bedroom in search of pair of clean robes. He had to be at work in twenty minutes, the prolonged shower cutting his normal morning schedule in half. With haste he rifled through his wardrobe, finally withdrawing a set of plain black robes. They were simple, slightly frayed around the edges. Compared to the splendid robes he wore before his imprisonment, these were slave garb, but it was all he could afford with his dismal pay. Speaking of pay, if he was to get the measly fifteen galleons a week he was awarded then he had to get a move on. After pulling on the itchy garment he scrounged around the dirty room until he found his wand. His hawthorn wand was his most prized possession, despite the limitations placed upon it by the Ministry of Magic just prior to his release from Azkaban. The Department of Mysteries had been working with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to create a spell that would limit magic on certain wands. This spell had then been cast on all wands belonging to Death Eaters to prevent an uprising of dark magic. As it was, Draco was unable to use any offensive spells without the Aurors being alerted.

Sighing as he thought of his new magical limitations, he decided to skip breakfast and apparate directly to The Leaky Cauldron so he could enter Diagon Alley. Sucking in a deep breath he felt his body contract as he was sucked into dizzying darkness, reappearing with a pop inside The Leaky Cauldron. The patrons of the bar ignored him, many having a quick breakfast. It was no shock for a wizard or witch to appear in the bar, but normally they would greet the newcomer. Of course, he was a convicted Death Eater. Being ignored came with the territory, as well as the skull that was permanently etched into his left forearm, no matter how much it faded. A figure with the hood of their cloak up nodded to him, and he nodded back before turning on his heel and entering Diagon Alley. The shopping district was once again as bright as it had been prior to the war, and almost twice as crowded. At the conclusion of the violence there had been a boom in wizarding population as old prejudices were put aside by many, causing a spike in wizarding marriages and the birth rate. Now there were parents shopping for Christmas, and the alley was packed. With some difficulty he struggled past a rather large witch carrying a disgruntled owl and into Eeylop's Owl Emporium.

"Martins, you're very nearly late," his boss scolded.

"It's Malfoy, _sir_," Draco drawled. The man behind the counter gave a grunt and went back to helping a customer in finding a brand of owl treats. Draco headed to the back room and shrugged off his travelling cloak, reaching for the enchanted broom that lay against the wall. He rolled up his sleeves and returned to the shop, starting in the corner and sweeping up all the owl droppings that had accumulated overnight. With bitter resentment he thought of the splendour he had once lived in. The Malfoys had truly fallen from grace. His mother had been murdered and his father lived alone in a tiny house, the size of the entrance hall of the manor they once possessed, and here he was, sweeping owl droppings for a living. He groaned as he stepped forward into a fresh pile of droppings.

"McMahon, feed the owls against the east wall, and hurry up with it."

"It's Malfoy, _sir_," Draco added through gritted teeth, releasing the broom which flew magically to the back room. He reached for the owl treats that sat behind the counter and spent the next few hours wandering around the store, poking treats into cages and nursing pecked fingers. It was a Wednesday, the one day of the week where the store closed at lunchtime and it was not necessary for him to remain after one o'clock. His boss was pottering around the shop, putting up wards to keep intruders from breaking in after closing. Draco fed the last owl in the shop who gave a hoot of appreciation when he felt his boss's hand on his shoulder.

"Good work today, son. Off you go."

Nodding once in thanks, Draco returned to the back room to put on his cloak before heading back into Diagon Alley. If possible it was even busier than it had been when he had arrived. People were meeting up for lunch, and the new cafés that had opened up and dotted the street were packed. Laughter carried across the street and he scowled, knowing he would not be welcome at any of these cafés. With his hands shoved deep into his pockets he walked along the cheery street, his face turned into an ugly frown until he reached Knockturn Alley and entered the familiar, musty bar.

Almost immediately he faltered. There, sitting in the same seat from the night prior, was Hermione Granger, tracing her finger around the rim of a glass filled with an amber liquid he recognized to be firewhiskey. She looked remarkably sober when she lifted her head to see who had entered the otherwise empty establishment. Draco was contemplating leaving, not wishing to carry on normal, trivial conversation with Granger, but the craving for alcohol was too tempting. He wavered for a moment and sighed, drifting to the bar where he took his normal seat. The bartender nodded at him and slid a drink across the counter to him. It slopped over the side, but neither of them cared.

Draco's mind was whirring. Was Granger really the beautiful woman he had seen the night before? No, she couldn't be. She was forever the bushy haired mudblood, though it was plain to see her hair was not as bushy as it was curly. The dark brown ringlets formed tight curls that exploded around her head, giving her a mane of dark curls that oozed sex appeal. She was slender, with curves in all the right places, and her ample bosom that had been hidden beneath baggy robes at Hogwarts was on display now as she wore a tight blue sweater dress that fell just above her knees. Draco unconsciously licked his lips as he drank her in.

"Malfoy," she murmured, catching him staring. He was shocked to see a smile playing around the corners of her lips.

"Granger. I wouldn't have pegged you for the type to get wasted at midday on a Wednesday," he said silkily, sipping at his drink.  
"I'm hardly wasted, just mildly intoxicated," her lips pulled up into a tiny smile this time.

"Don't you work at the Ministry? I doubt Shacklebolt would approve of you skiving off work to get drunk in Knockturn Alley," he accused, warmth from the firewhiskey spreading throughout his body.

"I quit," she muttered. The bartender, noticing her drink was empty, sidled over and poured another glass for her, topping off Draco's as well. They lapsed into silence, the hum of the wireless screeching Celestina Warbeck they only noise aside from the clinking of glasses against the wooden bar. More time passed and all that occurred was the further intoxication of both Draco and Hermione. No conversation passed between them until Hermione gasped.

"I love this song," she beamed, her voice scarcely slurred. "Dance with me."

She stood, reaching to grab Draco's wrist but he pulled it away.

"I am hardly drunk enough to be dancing to this muggle shit, let alone dancing to this muggle shit with _you_," he snapped snidely and her face fell for a moment. A forced smile clicked into place.

"Fine. Be a spoilsport!" She stumbled into the middle of the still empty bar, swaying to the music until the beat picked up. She started lifting her arms above her head, doing some ridiculous dance that made Draco cringe. He turned away, rolling his grey eyes and returning to his fifth…no, sixth? glass of firewhiskey. The bartender sniggered and shook his head, he too rolling his eyes at the witch who was now stomping wildly though the song had calmed down. As the song came to a finish on a low note, she hummed along loudly before falling to the floor and dissolving into giggles. Draco turned around in his stool and quirked a brow at the shaking figure on the floor, her high pitched laughter ringing in his ears.

"Oi, Granger. Get up. You're making a fool of yourself, and you're getting dirtier than you already were," he glared at her as she ignored him, ending her laughter with a content sigh. He shook his head again and got off his stool, tripping slightly. With an empty stomach, the alcohol had affected him quicker than normal. He felt delightfully warm and everything was a little bit fuzzy now that he was standing. His head spinning, he bent down to help Granger up, only to be pulled onto the ground with her. She squealed as he landed with a thump, groaning at the impact with the dusty stone floor. He coughed loudly and dusted dirt from his robes, ignoring the new round of giggles that was shaking Granger's frame. "What the fuck was that?" he asked loudly, tearing his wrist from her grasp. Her laughter droned on until it finally stopped with another satisfied sigh.

Muttering beneath his breath he stood and glared at the clock on the wall. It was only seven o'clock in the evening, and Hermione Granger was long past the point of drunk. Draco wasn't too far gone yet, not nearly as intoxicated as he liked to be at this time on a Wednesday night, and with the irritating form of a drunken Hermione Granger in his favourite and only watering hole, he doubted any more alcohol would be consumed. He weighed up his options in his head. Either he could leave, abandoning Granger here. She would be tossed out unceremoniously when other patrons began to arrive, and he shuddered at the thought of what the vermin who inhabited Knockturn Alley would do to a defenceless, intoxicated Hermione Granger, queen of the wizarding world. His only other alternative was to take her home with him or apparate to Potter's house. According to the tabloids, things weren't too hot between the Weasel and Granger, so he was out of the question.

He cast a look at the witch beside him. Her caramel eyes were closed and she bobbed her head along to the music, her lips moving along with the lyrics. She looked so peaceful. So beautiful. Wait. What? No. This was Hermione Mudblood Granger, the biggest Gryffindor know-it-all to ever grace the halls of Hogwarts. She had made his life a living hell for him, being so self-righteous and uppity about everything. No, Hermione Grangers was definitely not _beautiful_. Even calling her attractive was a stretch. She was decidedly plain, simply average. Maybe even bordering on unattractive. Ugly wasn't an option. She wasn't like Millicent Bulstrode or anything.

With a resigned sigh he got to his feet and bent down to help the curly haired witch to her feet. Her movements were slow, sluggish.

"What the fuck were you giving her?" Draco snapped at the bartender as he scooped Granger into his arms. Her body was so unresponsive to his movements that she didn't even notice the ground being pulled out from under her feet.

"Just a little of my home concoctions," the bartender laughed wheezily, eyeing Granger's legs as her sweater dress rode up. Draco hissed angrily and pulled the dress down, covering the skin that was exposed. "Didn't know that you would be so respective of young Miss Granger, Mister Malfoy," the bartender added with a sneer which Draco returned.

"Who I respect is none of your business," the blonde man growled, readjusting the woman in his arms. He fished money out of his pocket, enough to cover both of their tabs, and turned on his heel to leave the dingy establishment. The November air assaulted him as he carried the witch to his normal apparition spot where he fumbled for his wand. Side-along apparation was one piece of magic he detested, and he was glad he had sobered up a little bit or this would be a very unpleasant experience for his partner.

Deciding that finding his key would be too difficult in his current position, Draco used his already withdrawn wand to _alohamora_ the door to his apartment open. Granger groaned in his arms but her eyes remained shut. Somewhere along the way she had passed out, just making his task all the more difficult.

After stumbling slightly into his bedroom (which was the largest room of the flat, seeing as there was only a small bathroom and tiny kitchen to take up the rest of the tiny residence) he frowned. He had planned to draw up a single bed in the corner of his room with his wand, but there didn't seem to be any space. He needed to shift some of the furniture and move the dirty clothes from the floor, but that would require something with a bit more movement, something that wasn't possible with restricted arm movement. His frown deepened, and then, with little reluctance, he all but dropped Hermione Granger onto the floor.

Her body impacted with the ground with a muffled thud and she groaned once more, but Draco was too busy doing some long overdue housekeeping to notice. He magicked his clothes clean, shrank his desk (that was covered in ink stains and broken quills, plus a pair of lacy knickers from a whore) and shifted it to the opposite corner. With a little bit of tricky magic he conjured a fluffy bed with soft blankets and placed it gently in the corner. Proud of his handiwork he bent down to pick up Granger again, who had curled herself into a tight little ball. He scooped her up into his arms with ease. She was so tiny! With no difficulty he placed her on the newly conjured bed and pulled off her shoes, a pair of classy black pumps, and covered her with the blanket. She sighed contentedly and rolled over.

Feeling that his kindness meter had long since been used up, Draco yawned loudly and pulled off his cloak and unbuttoned his shirt. He felt entirely sober for the first night in a long time, and it dawned on him how tired he had become since he had turned to liquor. He stripped entirely, back to Granger who was still fast asleep, and pulled on some pajama pants that he had owned but never worn. The prospect of climbing into his bed with the filthy sheets wasn't at all appealing, so some quick cleaning spells he had taught himself prior to moving out of the Malfoy family home were applied. After a few more spells and charms to make his bed more appealing, he slipped beneath the sheets and fell promptly to sleep.

* * *

Something bright was trying to force its way into Hermione's eyes, and she wasn't happy. She burrowed further beneath the blanket. Strange. It didn't feel like her plush doona that she slept beneath at home. This was soft, but not as fluffy. Her pillow felt strange as well, a little too firm for her liking. Though she was now covered head to toe with the blanket, light still invaded her eyes and she groaned, tossing the blanket off her and finally opening her eyes. She gasped at the unfamiliar room before noticing the unmistakable blonde hair poking out from a doona that covered a mattress on the floor.

What the hell was she doing in Draco Malfoy's bedroom?

A quick glance told her she was fully clothed and she released a breath she didn't know she had been holding. Her mouth tasted like dirt and she felt filthy. She thanked Godric she had taken an anti-hangover potion prior to visiting that bar in Knockturn Alley. It had been so nice just to forget how cruel the world was, even if it was only for a couple of hours. But now, in the light of day when her brain wasn't clouded by alcohol, she shuddered at the thoughts of the world and how vile it truly was. She pushed the thoughts from her brain and clambered out of the bed, shivering when the cold morning air wrapped around her. She was still clad in her sweater dress, and her shoes lay at the foot of the bed.

She tiptoed to the window and saw that the day had hardly begun and the world was still asleep. The sun barely peeked up over the horizon, bathing London in a beautiful morning glow. These were the moments she lived for. The moments when she could be the only person in the world and she watched the most beautiful occurrences. The moments when the planet was silent and she could lose herself in the peace. She let out a content sigh and turned from the window, realizing just how dirty she felt – she needed a shower, and badly. There was a slightly ajar door that allowed her a glimpse at a sink and she felt relief flood her, then thought how silly it was to think that the flat _wouldn't_ have a bathroom. Carefully, so as to not disturb Malfoy, she closed the bathroom door behind her and stripped down. Her wand fell from a hidden pocket she had on her dress and she quickly transfigured the stained and smelly outfit into a pair of dark jeans and a comfortable shirt. What was Ginny Weasley good for if it wasn't cosmetic spells? Aside from being like a sister to her, Ginny had helped Hermione break out of her shell prior to her employment in the Ministry of Magic.

The shower sputtered to life and soon the room was steamy. Hermione couldn't see two inches in front of her as the water scalded her skin, just how she liked it. With care she cleaned every inch of her body before massaging Malfoy's shampoo into her scalp. It smelt of pine needles and she breathed it in deeply. She hopped out of the shower with the hope that she had left enough hot water for him and wrapped one of the green towels around her body. She snorted at the colour. Old habits die hard, she guessed. She dried off quickly and pulled on the freshly transfigured clothes, relishing in their warmth and comfort. Her hair was a lost cause without the normal shampoo she used, so she let it dry naturally, hoping the curls didn't go too crazy. Her skin was still pinkish from the heat of the shower when she returned to the bedroom, and the figure in the bed was stirring. She could make out a snake that curled its way up his back tattooed onto the pale skin, and it was surrounded by deep scars.

Malfoy groaned and sat up.

"Nice tattoo," she said quietly and he froze for a moment. She moved to sit on the bed she had slept in which she made with a flick of her wand. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Malfoy said stiffly, standing and stretching. She couldn't help but watch his muscles ripple under the movements. His chest was muscular and incredibly defined, but the skin was once again marred by scars. She caught sight of another tattoo on his right forearm as well as the Dark Mark that stretched across his left forearm. He caught her gaze and held it. She felt compelled to look away, but his piercing silver eyes captured her so fully that is was impossible to look away.

"Let me take you out to breakfast," she offered. "As thanks for helping me. You probably saved my life. Who knows what the bartender would have let people do to me."

"I have to go to work, Granger," he said coldly and she narrowed her eyes.

"Let me take you out to breakfast," she repeated, her voice lower this time. A smirk grew on his face.

"And what are you going to do if I don't let you. Imperio me?"

"No. I'll go to Harry and tell him you kidnapped me from the bar I was at last night. You'll go away for a long time for that, Malfoy. I'm the wizarding world's Golden Girl, remember?"

His eyes narrowed at her. "You wouldn't dare."

"Try me," she said sweetly. "Go and have a shower, and then we're going to go and have breakfast."

"I have to go to work. If I miss one day, I'll be fired. And what about _your_ job?" he asked snidely and she shrugged.

"Like I said yesterday, I quit. So I'm currently unemployed, and with the state of my bank account, I have no need to work." This was very true. A recent article in _Witch Weekly_ had come out, announcing Hermione to be the richest witch in Britain. "Now, go and have a shower."

She smiled triumphantly as he skulked into the bathroom, muttering beneath his breath. As soon as the door closed she looked around the room and her smile faded. This was his bedroom? It was dark and dingy, not to mention filthy. She looked back at the closed bathroom door and decided to do him a favour and clean the room up a bit. She quickly did a banishing spell on the dust and grime that had built up, and with another flick of her wand his clothes were all clean and hung up neatly in the wardrobe. She quickly made his bed as well and lined up his shoes and stepped back to admire her handiwork. The room now looked brighter and a little more appealing.

She jumped slightly when the bathroom door banged open and Malfoy stalked out with only a towel wrapped around his waist.

"What did you do?" he asked, somewhat shocked by the appearance of his room.

"I just cleaned it up a little bit. Your room was disgusting," she sniffed at him.

"It just so happens I _liked_ my room the way it was, Granger," he scowled but she didn't notice. "I need to get dressed now, seeing as you're forcing me to go out to breakfast with you, so would you mind leaving the room?"

"Fine. I'm going to apparate back to my place and grab some new shoes. I'll be back in a minute, so don't try and leave," she said, dragging her eyes off his body. For some reason she couldn't look away from the scars on his chest until he coughed loudly. She nodded to him and disappeared with a crack, reappearing outside her posh apartment.

She had bought it after completing her seventh year at Hogwarts. Harry and Ron had opted out of returning to school, instead being accepted into the Auror program with open arms, no training required. The flat was quite small, but it overlooked Hyde Park, thus the high price tag. It was in a primarily muggle inhabited location, which suited her just fine. She didn't want to lose her upbringing, so the apartment was a mix of muggle and wizarding décor. It was furnished throughout with light wooden floorboards and the walls were a light blue. One wall was entirely windowed, another covered in books.

Hermione went to her bedroom and rummaged around in her large wardrobe for a pair of boots to go with her outfit, finally deciding on black ankle boots. A look in the mirror told her that she had heavy bags under her eyes and was looking ill. She hadn't slept well in weeks and had resorted to concealment charms to alter her appearance. She didn't want Harry and Ginny to worry about her, what with Ginny's pregnancy. Tugging on the boots she placed her normal wards up around her apartment, applied a concealment charm to the shadows beneath her eyes and apparated back to Malfoy's flat.

* * *

Draco was pissed off.

It had just started with him trying to be a good person and not let Hermione Granger get raped and possibly killed, and now he was going to lose his job because she wanted to take him out for breakfast for some ridiculous reason. He pulled on a pair of black jeans and buttoned an emerald green shirt up, drying his hair quickly with a towel which he dumped on the floor of his now clean bedroom. In truth, what Granger had done was a vast improvement, but she still had no right to alter his living space the way she did.

He tucked his wand into the pocket of his jeans and left the flat, locking the door behind him. A loud crack sounded and Granger appeared in front of him looking shocked.

"You're wearing muggle clothes?" she asked and he looked down at his outfit.

"I live in a predominantly muggle area, Granger. I figured it would be safer to wear this than parade down the street in my robes," he commented dryly and she blushed.

"Right. Obviously. Anyway, let's go," she ordered and he groaned.

"Granger, you're going to get me fired, and then you'll be sorry," he threatened.

"I'll find you a new job. Now grab my hand," she instructed and he pulled a face. "Oh don't be such a child, Malfoy. I don't have cooties."

"What are _cooties_?" he frowned, taking her hand. The world compressed around them for a second and they reappeared on a cold London street near a muggle café. "Where are we?"

"Near my favourite place for breakfast, so come on," she said, dragging him along. He didn't even know why he had agreed to go with her. She was a pain in his rear, and yet, here he was, being pulled into some _muggle_ café. They were seated quickly at a table that was much too private for his tastes, but she didn't complain. "They do great bacon and eggs here," offered him a menu and he accepted it.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked, keeping his eyes on the menu.

"I don't know," she admitted. "I think I'll have the pancakes, actually. Pancakes and a pot of tea. What are you having?"

"Bacon and eggs and a long black. I haven't eaten breakfast for months."

"That's not very healthy," she frowned at him, her brow creasing as she summoned over the waitress to dictate their order to. The waitress' eyes flickered over Malfoy approvingly until he met her gaze with an icy stare. She scurried away. "That wasn't nice," Hermione pointed out.

"She was a muggle. I don't think of them like I used to, but I prefer witches. Much easier to deal with," he admitted and she cocked her head to the side.

"Let me guess, you prefer purebloods to any other witch," she assumed, eyes narrowed.

"No, not really. A witch is a witch, and if I have similar interests with her then I don't mind. My father isn't a part of my life anymore, and my mother never cared when she was alive. She just wanted me to be happy," he looked down, unable to meet Granger's eyes as he spoke of his mother. Her name was permanently etched into his skin on the back of his left calf, next to a dark rose. She had been murdered by Voldemort when Lucius had failed to do his bidding, with Draco and his father forced to watch as she was tortured and then murdered by Riddle himself.

"That's a very different attitude to the one you showed at school," Granger smiled as the waitress placed their drinks on the tables and hurried away before she could receive another scathing look from Draco.

"We were kids back then, and I was under the reign of Riddle and my father. Believe me, my stint in Azkaban changed me," he fiddled with a paper napkin as he spoke, feeling Granger's eyes boring into him. "I don't think like that. Thinking and acting like that turned me into a monster, like my father. You…you saw the scars I have. They're from him and Riddle. I know that if I kept thinking how I did, I would turn out like that, a cruel sadist."

The air between the two was tense when he finished speaking and both were thankful when the waitress arrived with their meals. They ate in silence, but the awkwardness was gone. Draco had to admit the food was excellent. He finished before she did, leaning back in his chair and watching her take dainty bites of the pancakes that she had drowned in syrup. She caught him looking and blushed, swallowing her mouthful hastily.

"I never asked you where you work," she said, prompting for him to go ahead.

"It's a charming position. I clean up at Eeylop's Owl Emporium. Sweeping owl shit and the like," he said bluntly and she choked on her coffee, spraying it across the table. "Really, Granger, I thought you were more civilized than that."

"Sorry!" she looked around and magicked the stain from his shirt, flushing. "Why aren't you working somewhere better? You're smart, Malfoy, you could get a job almost anywhere."

"Me? Get a job anywhere? Granger, I'm a convicted Death Eater. I have the fucking Dark Mark branded into my skin forever. Employers take one look at that and throw my resume in the fire," he said angrily. "What about _you_. Where did you work?"

"I used to work at the Ministry for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," she shrugged, finishing the last of her coffee.

"You were an Auror?" he asked, surprised.

"Oh, no. I left that to Harry. I was on the Wizengamot. The youngest member there ever was," she boasted.

"Why did you quit?"

"There was this one case that was so horrible I couldn't stay. There was a little girl, and her mother had died a few months earlier, so she went into the custody of her stepfather. Two weeks later her grandmother was taking care of her and saw that she had all these marks and bruises on her legs and torso. When she confronted the father, he denied anything had happened and _Obliviated_ her. A few weeks later, the aunt came to visit and hear screaming. When she finally managed to get into the house, the stepfather was torturing the little girl with the Cruciatus curse. The aunt _stupefied_ him, but the damage was done. Her body was so tiny that the curse killed her. Before she did she was taken to St. Mungo's where they extracted her memories. Her father…he had done things, awful things to her. The Wizengamot had to watch these memories over and over again, even though we _knew_ the father was guilty. His lawyer argued the possibility that the girl, this five year old girl, had faked them. He expected us to swallow that bullshit," she spat out with a humourless laugh. "And so I quit. I thought that if I ever had to see anything like that again I wouldn't come out the other end alive."

Draco was startled to see her eyes were glassy and she looked away from him for a moment. When she looked back her face was blank.

"Granger, I'm sorry you had to go through that," he murmured, actually meaning it as he extended a hand across the table. Her hand was warm and soft, and he absently wondered if the rest of her skin was as soft. Her hand was stiff at first, unsure of the sudden contact, but she relaxed soon after at his soothing touch.

"You're the first person I've told this to, and the last person I would have expected to," she chuckled as his hand withdrew. "Do you want to go for a walk?"

"I'm already two hours late for work, so another few hours won't do anything, I suppose," he got his wallet out to pay but she stopped him.

"I doubt you have muggle money in there, Malfoy," she said when he threw a questioning glance her way. She placed a few funny looking pieces of paper on the table and they stood to leave, walking into the bitter November chill.

* * *

The door banged open in a flurry of hands and moans. Hermione's legs were wrapped around his waist, hands buried in his platinum hair. His hands were everywhere as he kicked the door to his apartment shut and guided them backwards into the bedroom. In a few quick movements they were both down to nothing but their underwear, but even those small pieces of fabric were too much for the pair. Draco unclipped and removed her bra with ease, palming her naked breasts and capturing her moan with a kiss.

Neither of them knew how it had happened. They had just been walking along and talking, and then their limbs were tangled in a searing kiss. And now they lay, nearly naked, on Draco's bed. Hermione began to wiggle out of her knickers, but the movement was too slow for Draco. With a grunt he tore the flimsy material from her body and pulled off his boxers. He thrust into her, creating that delicious friction they both desired so much and their moans bounced off the walls of the small room. They moved as one, their bodies slick with sweat. She rolled them over so she was on top, bending down so her wild brown curls created a curtain around her face. His hands moved onto her hips, helping the rhythm that caused them so much pleasure.

With a final thrust they came together, crying out each other's names before Hermione collapsed on top of his body, shuddering with aftershocks. He pressed a soft kiss to her lips and they fell into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

When she woke the room was dark. With reluctance she removed herself from Draco's embrace and slipped from the bed. With a little difficulty she found her bra, but her panties were ruined, Draco having ripped them from her body in their passion. Frowning at the lack of underwear, she buttoned Draco's shirt over herself. It was far too long for her tiny frame. She scrounged around and managed to find a wand with which she summoned a scrap of paper and a quill.

_Draco,_

_Thank you for everything. I'll see you at the bar. Floo me._

_-Hermione_


End file.
